Betrayal
by Hymntanra
Summary: Phantom reflects upon his memory of Aria, and the statue of perfection that she is in his heart. Then he begins to fear what it may mean to love another. PhanAria, PhanFreud.


Betrayal

_Oh what mercy sadness brings, if God be willing..._

She was so beautiful.

Phantom could remember every iota of her being. He could remember her cascades of light gold hair, falling around cerulean orbs that would entrance him so often. He could remember the slight shoulders that would shake with her slim form when she laughed—a sweet, delicate sound that tittered through the forests of Ereve when she was amused. It was a sound that was common enough to be loved, but rare enough to be treasured. Her voice that was light and melodious. Every word from the dear Empress of Maple's lips would sound like a beautiful song, be a threat of attack on her enemies or a hymn of love towards her secret suitor.

Her disposition was that of both an adult and that of a child. The young Empress could handle any formal affair with practiced ease and yet would cast disdain upon cruel nobles with all the dignity of a child—a child who could see only the _right_ way, the way of protecting the people rather than protecting the wealth of the royals. She was a woman who valued the citizens over the nobles and did not fear saying so. Phantom knew that she would not have feared saying so even if she had not been an Empress. She was, after all, the woman brave enough to corner an infamous thief.

To Phantom, this was Empress Aria. This was how he had seen the woman in his mind's eye. It was how he had heard her in his mental ear. Her personality was perfectly captured in a heart shaped lock within in his mind. She was a perfectly preserved statue of affection of sorrow that he fought for—this beautiful and honest woman, who symbolized the ideal of Phantom's one true love in this world. There could be no other.

Thus it confused him, almost like a lost puppy or ill-begotten child who had thieved for the first time, when Freud impacted his life.

Freud was not like the ideal, preserved statue of affection that Phantom had built up within his own head and heart. He was not like Aria. Certainly, they shared their similarities. They both fought for the common man and valued the citizen over the noble, and were both outspoken fearless individuals who bonded with animal companions. But the similarities ended there. Freud always saw matters in much more complex ways than Aria did; he looked at things from every angle before making his decision, while she went with the _right_ decision. What she felt was _right_ and _just_ was always the decision to pursue in Aria's court—in Freud's court, the decision to pursue was always the one that would help them towards their eventual goal. He fought for the same goal but he went about it so _differently. _

He was not _demure_ like she was. Though Freud was calm and collected, he was in no way a demure maiden like Aria. He fought tooth and nail, with both his magic and his words, in the battles that were presented to him. If he had to go outside of the system to do what he needed to do then Freud would do so. He would not sit back and wait for a council that he did not respect to make decisions—if Freud did not respect their decisions, then he would (albeit politely) ignore them and proceed forward with his own plans using his own allies. It was, after all, how the Heroes had come to be.

The mage did not even look like Empress Aria. His auburn hair was short cut in a messy, ill combed pattern and his face was much longer than her heart shaped face. His shoulders, being of a male build, were much broader than her slim and feminine form. His voice, deeper and much more velvety. Even his eyes, despite being blue like hers, were not the same shade. While she had a clear bright blue shade, Freud's eyes were more of a vibrant aqua shade. Like the teeming ocean.

Freud was nothing like Aria. He was nothing like the image of Phantom's perfect love that the thief had built up and idolized as the only one he would ever love.

And thus the blonde thief could not help the nagging feeling of betrayal that chipped away at his very being when affection began to drive into conscious. The fact that _Freud was not Aria, Freud will never be Aria, Freud is nothing like Aria_…and yet the fact that Phantom knew that as the days passed, he grew closer to the mage in a way that was not just friendly. Phantom was a man who had been through romance before, both genuine romance and romance meant strictly for sex. He could recognize this as the former. He could recognize, easily, that the affection he had for Freud was nearly as powerful as the affection for Aria.

He hated himself for it.

The thief felt nothing but betrayal.

Betrayal to the perfect figurehead in his memory, the woman with the golden hair and the shimmering blue eyes. Betrayal against a woman he couldn't save. Betrayal as he allowed himself to sit next to Freud comfortably, flipping through old tomes in various languages as the mage quietly spoke to the thief as to explain the meanings. Each deep voiced word, even the simplest one, seemed to grip at the thief's heart like a violent vice grip. Like him being here with his…his friend was something _bad_.

_Was it?_

_ It is! You betray your Empress! You betray the love of your life! You torch the memory of the one you fight for, hurting everyone around you!_ Phantom's mind screamed back at him immediately. His head dipped slightly, the tip of the bird beaked mask scratching against the surface of the oak desk. Freud looked over at the thief with concern in his blue eyes, patting the man on his white clad back but received no sign of acknowledgement from the blonde—Phantom was too busy waging his own inner war.

_You dare abandon the memory of the sweet Empress, the one who reached out to be a friend to YOU? You dare torch her memory like it was nothing?_ The thief's mind hissed maliciously at him. _You fight for Aria. You cannot betray that memory. Especially not for someone else. You can't even be sure that you can trust this person. Everyone amongst these Heroes, they really are only here as fellow fighters…only here to fight alongside you, not to act as 'friends' or 'lovers'—_

"Phantom."

The thief glanced up.

Freud's aqua eyes were clouded with concern, one red gloved hand tightly gripping at the thief's white jacket back tightly. Phantom stared blankly back at the mage—his amethyst eyes seemed wild and disoriented to the other man but the brunette did not tear his eyes away from his ally. Freud refused to offer anything besides comfort to the blonde, gripping the other man's wrist with a warm and welcoming hand—as if the mage was trying to tether his thief friend to their world.

"You seemed stressed, Phantom." Freud said, his tone laced with worry and unease. "Is something wrong? You've been this way for several weeks. It's really been worrying me. Are you alright?"

Not a word about fighting.

Not a word about the other Heroes.

Not a word about the Black Mage.

It was, entirely, about Phantom. The mage's words were entirely coated in concern for his recruited ally, for his thief friend. His eyes were clouded fully in regret that the other man was feeling hurt from some unknown cause. The blonde felt like he should push the other man away, tell him to go away so that the thief could go back to his everlasting pillar of Aria, but a more rational voice finally chimed up in the back of his head.

_Going to your everlasting pillar will not make this reality go away._

Phantom squeezed his eyes shut.

"I…it's complicated, Freud."

"I'm sure that I could—" Freud began, but he was promptly interrupted.

"I don't doubt your abilities to do anything, Freud. If anything, I fully understand and respect them." Phantom said listlessly, rubbing his temples and slowly opening his eyes to stare forward at the bookcase in front of them. Anything to not look at the brunette beside him. Anything to not think about the topic of the betrayal beside him. Anything to not remind him that his own being was betraying what he told himself he would never do.

_That he would never love another. _

"Then what's wrong, Phantom?"

"…I…" Phantom fumbled with his words. He couldn't…he couldn't bring himself to say anything to the brunette mage. Anything he could let slip, could result in a waterfall of truth about the true inner turmoil and _then what_? What of what Freud felt? If he returned it, then what? _More betrayal towards Aria?_ Phantom had yet to even properly avenge the poor woman's death. Lotus, Orchid, the Black Mage…Phantom felt his blood boil at the mere thought. None of them had yet to suffer for what they had done.

Perhaps…

Perhaps.

If he could…

"Phantom?"

"Freud, not now, okay?" Phantom sighed…but a weak smile had spread his features. The brunette mage didn't reply. He simply gave an uneasy smile in return. "After…after the final battle with the Black Mage and his generals. After that happens. I'll explain what I'm even thinking. After that happens, then I'll tell you why I'm acting so weird. After I've avenged Aria, and taken down the people who have done ill upon her, then I…"

The room was silent.

"…then you can move on?"

Phantom stared at the mage, thrown off at his finishing of the sentence. Freud's expression had become blank and serious, his hands crossed over his lap. Slowly, the thief directed his eyes back down at his own lap in embarrassment—what did Freud's words mean? Did he _know_? It wasn't like Freud was an idiot. Freud was one of the greatest minds of his generation. Figuring out Phantom's 'secret' would be no difficult task for someone who had accomplished as much as Freud had accomplished.

But…Phantom figured there was only so much that the mage could know.

After all, there was only so much that even he himself knew about his own situation.

"…I guess we'll see." Phantom replied quietly. Freud did not respond; he simply stared at the open novel on the desk with lidded eyes. "When their bodies are cold…maybe my betrayal will be no more."

_Maybe my betrayal will be no more._

As he left the room, Phantom did not even hear Freud whispering mournfully to himself.

"And what if it does not even matter, then?"


End file.
